


Regeneration

by tahirire



Series: Regen 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-05
Updated: 2008-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future!fic, post apoca!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regeneration

Regeneration

 

She loves seeing them like this; her boys, jostling for space at the grill, smiling free and easy as they argue over when to flip the steaks. She guesses that she’ll always call them that; her boys, even though there’s no one denying that they’re grown men now, have been for years.

It’s bright, sunlit days like this that make her think of it the most. She always shakes her head in awe at the contrast. When she grew up, the old ones would talk about Hitler and Vietnam like the world had been ending. She’s seen the world ending, for real, and even now in the safety and peace of this fragile new utopia, thinking about how it was then turns her blood to ice.

 

~*~

 

 _Less than three years after the Devil’s gate was opened, Hell came to Earth. Not Hell like 8 dollars for a gallon of milk or massive unemployment across the country or failing crops; Hell like fire and brimstone and ashes. Lilith and Lucifer claimed their territory piece by piece, their armies moving slowly out from Kansas like dark red waves. Of the fugitives, no one was more hunted than the Winchesters, and Sam was a beacon, his immense power drawing the Lightbringer wherever he went. In those times, hunters moved freely among civilians. There were no more secrets between them; instead, people begged for teachers that could help them survive._

 

~*~

 

She shakes her head, trying to pull herself back to the present. She’s not a hunter anymore; no one is. There’s no need – at least not in the States. But it’s in her blood, and even after twenty years, it’s hard to let it rest. She still shoots and carries a knife, she still knows Latin, and she doesn’t exactly like leaving the house unprotected. When they catch her staring out the window at night, Dean wraps his arms around her and holds her quietly, and Sam smiles that sweet, sad smile of his and goes for the salt.

 

~*~

 

 _It turned out that Lightbringer was a name in the literal sense. Lucifer made Lilith’s light show look like a zippo at an Aerosmith concert. Whole refugee camps vanished in the blazes, the people that fought so hard to stop him gone without a trace. She never stayed in a camp until the end, when there was nowhere else to go. Even then it felt like a death sentence; shutting the iron doors, feeling the panicked press of the vestiges of humanity._

 _Sam and Dean deposited her there personally, holding firm when she tried to protest. She was the only person they had left, they argued, and they would protect her if they could. Sam’s golden eyes held blazing conviction. He promised it would all be over soon. Dean looked pale and restless, and when they left, she cried for days.  
_

 

~*~

 

She’s always amazed at how much the world has recovered in such a short time. She smiles fondly at the people milling around her back yard. July fourth isn’t Independence Day anymore, and no July fourth she ever lived through as a kid could equal the kind of celebrations they throw now. Celebrations now are fierce; humanity declaring its strength to the universe.

Dean interrupts her from her thoughts by pecking her on the cheek and asking where she’s been hiding the beer, and she smacks him in the arm and tells him. He’s tall and strong, tanned from working outdoors. He builds houses, and Sam sometimes helps on his days off from the hospital. She beams with pride every time someone tells her what a difference they make.

July fourth isn’t Independence Day anymore; but May second is. Her eyes fill with unbidden tears as she looks at her smiling neighbors. They all know it’s Independence Day, but they don’t realize that it was something much more special first.

 

~*~

 

 _Dean came to her at the camp in the middle of the night, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost. He’d never come to her before, not like this, but she knew what he wanted just the same. She took one look at him and pulled him in close. She didn’t understand, but she didn’t ask him any questions._

 _He spilled out his sorrow without words, taking her like it would keep him from dying. His sure, strong hands trembled, and his green eyes were full of unknowable pain. She met him inch for inch; two lost souls searching for solace. It was barest comfort; but it was all she had to give. When she woke in the morning, he was gone._

 

~*~

 

Dean is off in the garage searching for beverages, and Sam hums to himself as he flips the steaks carefully. His hair falls in his face, but she doesn’t have the heart to tease him, and she can’t bring herself to insist he cut it. She doesn’t miss the way his head is cocked casually to the side, an unconscious casting for Dean’s presence. She chuckles to herself. They’ve always been close, but she never gets tired of watching them share brain space.

It was hard for them at first, living apart, but she’s not really sure she could call it that, as much as they visit each other. Sam and Dean are a package deal. Go in for one, count on getting them both. It’s a fact of the universe. She supposes maybe it’s been that way for hundreds of years.

 

~*~

 

 _The camp was a flurry of activity. Usually she was greeted by her fellow refugees, but everyone avoided her. She felt their whispers and sideways glances. It took the better part of the day, but she finally found someone to tell her the news. She immediately wished she hadn’t._

 _“Didn’t you hear?” he said, glancing to the sky. “Sam Winchester went after Lucifer and got himself possessed. It’s over – we’re all dead.”_

 _Her heart stopped beating. She fell to her knees, following the old man’s gaze to the high walls. Angels were surrounding the encampment, and they searched the wasteland outside the iron keep with eagle eyes. She realized that they were preparing to make one final stand. There were so few of them._

 _She knew where Dean had gone, and the knowledge was like physical pain. She prayed against all hope that he would make it. The refugees around her wanted salvation. She just wanted those two to come back home alive._

 

~*~

 

Her mom shows up late, but she has potato salad. She hugs her tight, breathing in the feeling. She lost plenty of people in the war, but only her mother had turned out not to be lost at all. She smiles in greeting and takes the dish into the kitchen until it’s time to eat. She bumps into Dean on the way in, tells him to go say hello. His smile is bright and eager and he rushes to comply.

She sits down at the kitchen table, stares at the calendar, and tries to hold herself together.

 

~*~

 

 _The blast, when it came, shook the whole country._

 _When the doors finally swung open, the few angels that were left stood battered and weary on the other side. She felt a little wild as she ran to the smaller angel and grabbed his hands in her own. She searched his unfathomable blue eyes for answers, but he just shook his head. He didn’t know the outcome. “Please,” she begged. “Help me find them.”_

 _Castiel nodded, and they walked away from the camp, leaving the others to their celebration. She never thought victory could taste so much like defeat._

 

~*~

 

“Jo, sweetie, are you alright?”

Her mother’s quiet steel voice shakes her carefully from her reverie. She wipes the tears from her eyes angrily, and laughs at how pathetic she must seem. “I’m fine, honest.”

Ellen doesn’t buy it, hasn’t bought her daughter’s crap for forty years. Her eyes narrow, glittering intelligence despite their dimming light.

“Really, Mom. I’ll deal. I’ve got the boys.”

 

~*~

 

 _She found them in the middle of Armageddon’s field, which turned out to be in Iowa, of all places. Bodies as far as the eye could see rotted in the post-war haze; humans, demons, angels – no one was immune. She retched and swore as they picked their way through the wreckage to the center of the blast, but Castiel never seemed to mind. He held her hand and walked her steadily on until she saw their destination._

 

~*~

 

Sam commands the attention of everyone in the yard when he calls the group together. He thanks them all for coming and reminds them of why they are here. He says this isn’t just a celebration, it’s a remembrance, and it’s for millions who lost their lives, as well as the lives of the hunters who fell defending them.

His voice is strong and sure, but his eyes shine as he locks his gaze with hers.

“Would everyone please take a moment of silence to remember the leaders of the fighters; the men who gave everything to save us.” He raises a glass, requesting a toast. “For my Uncle, for my Father, and for every soul lost to the darkness.”

The crowd murmurs assent and plastic cups raise in unison to the fallen.

Today, all over the world, people drink in memory of the Winchester brothers.

 

~*~

 

 _The field around them was covered in death and decay, but in the center stood a verdant copse of young trees. They looked young, new, and as she stepped across the threshold of fresh green grass, it was like entering Holy Ground. Sam’s power still tingled in the air. It soothed her, his familiar presence lingering in the earth itself. Armageddon ground zero was pure creation. The angel held back at the edge, and she moved forward feeling like she was under a spell. In the middle of the circle, she found Sam and Dean._

 _They were kneeling, face to face, untouched by the carnage. Sam’s forehead rested gently against Dean’s, eyes closed in relief, his arms slumped heavily at his sides. Dean held the bulk of his brother’s weight, one hand resting across his neck near his cheek, the other arm curled around behind Sam to clutch his flannel shirt. His face was weary and gaunt, but no tears had spilled from his softly shut eyes. His entire posture was one of peace, his perfect lips hinting at a satisfied grin._

 _Her heart swelled at the sight of them. They were beautiful; the very picture of sacrifice and love. They were victorious; the saviors of an entire world._

 _But none of that mattered to her, because they were gone._

 _She fell to her knees in the tall grass, silent tears streaming down her face. She felt the angel’s hesitant hand come to rest gently on her shoulder._

 _They stayed there for a long time._

 _~*~_

It has always made her happy that Dean is taller than Sam. It doesn’t matter, of course. She loves them both no matter what, her beautiful boys, her precious gifts. But she likes to think their father would get a kick out of it, smirk and say ‘ _damn, finally I get justice,’_ and ruffle his eldest’s hair fondly.

Even though he’s only the oldest by twelve minutes, Dean has always thought it was important, and he took to the big brother role like a fish to water. He has his grandmother’s brown hair and eyes, but she can see his uncle in his bright smile, all pearly teeth and dimples.

Sam takes after his father the most, and she thinks it’s appropriate. His eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his fair skin and freckles are enough to make most girls his age go weak in the knees. He has his father’s blazing green eyes, and his uncle’s analytical mind.

They are perfect gentleman as they move around the yard, consoling some and laughing with others. At the end of the night, they will stay with her. They’ll open the trunk at the foot of the bed, take out Dean’s leather jacket and Sam’s tattered journal, and they’ll beg her to tell them stories of the men that made them who they are today.

She thinks about them every day. They would be proud, she knows. The five of them would have been awesome together.

 

~*~

 

 _The angel wept real tears when it was time for them to go. She looked into his eternal gaze, so wrought with pain, and couldn’t find the words to say. He seemed to understand._

 _“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “I wish to pay my last respects.” She obeyed, swallowing down the thrill of fear that ran through her spine like ice._

 _Warmth and peace flowed through her weary spirit, and a rush of wind tore through the fragile trees. She sensed more than felt the angel’s presence vanish, but it was a long time before she looked up again._

 _In the middle of the glade stood a mighty oak like she had never seen before. It soared to touch the red skies, defying gravity and time; a picture of strength and beauty. Gentle rain fell all around it, feeding the famished earth._

 _She smiled. People would journey here for years to come see the place where Sam, the perfect hybrid, and Dean, humanity’s greatest warrior, had defeated the forces of darkness. This oak, created by an angel’s grace, would be as good a marker as any to record their resting place._

 _In her mind, Sam’s dimples show and his hazel eyes dance behind his shaggy hair, and Dean smirks widely as they watch from wherever they are now._

 _“Hey, Sammy – is this Heaven?”_

 _Sam rolls his eyes and laughs._

 _“No, Dean. It’s Iowa.”_


End file.
